


I Believe in Your Victory

by pyrimidine



Series: Motherboy [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrimidine/pseuds/pyrimidine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'M' from <i>James Bond</i> as Eames's mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe in Your Victory

They’re in Eames’s dream. Ariadne has created a simple setting, just a grassy area by a lake that stretches all the way into the horizon, with mountains spiking up in the distance. Eames’s projections, by and large, tend to be attractive men and women, mostly young, although there are some older women coming through as well.

In fact, a much older woman breaks away from the crowd around the lake and starts making her way toward the two of them.

“Um, Eames,” Ariadne says. She pokes Eames’s leg. “There’s, uh. Who is that?”

Eames sits up. He has a toothpick in his mouth, which must be shoved between his teeth because it doesn’t fall out when his jaw drops open. He stands up quickly and Ariadne follows his lead, though she has no idea what’s going on. The woman stops in front of them; she and Eames seem to size each other up for a second.

“Eames,” she finally states. “How serendipitous. I’d almost forgotten what you’d looked like.”

“Hello,” Eames says somewhat stiffly.

“Dear boy, I could never get you to work on your manners, you don’t have to start now.”

Eames takes her advice and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you through your preferred channels, apparently. I have other means, but I know you wouldn’t appreciate that,” she says. Her words make it sound like she should be smiling, but she’s not.

Eames grunts. “You’ve got a haircut,” is all he says.

“It looks like you haven’t gotten one in years,” she counters. “You’re looking a bit worse for the wear, in fact. That scar by your eye, for example. Is that new? And you smell,” she takes a pause here as if flipping through mental flashcards in her olfactory lobe, “like day old barbecue sauce. Good lord, Eames, do you ever even bathe yourself anymore?”

Eames grunts again. He adjusts the toothpick between his teeth instead of saying anything.

“Try to find some energy for that,” she says in a cold voice, flicking her eyes up and down. “You may be having the time of your life, rampaging all over the world for no particular reason except perhaps to participate in every single activity ever deemed illegal by the authorities, but keep in mind that I worry.”

She looks at Ariadne. “You, girl. Woman to woman, don’t ever take a job where you’re constantly left to clean up the messes that men make of situations.”

“Your precious double-oh-seven gone off the grid again, then?” Eames asks.

She just smiles cuttingly, then leans up to press a kiss to both of Eames’s cheeks, holding onto his upper arm for balance. “Do call, darling. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I will,” Eames replies. It takes a moment for Ariadne to realize that he’s not speaking under his breath -- it’s just that his tone is softer than she’s ever heard it. “Sorry for missing your birthday,” he adds, even though the woman is already walking away.

She turns briefly in acknowledgment, then becomes swallowed up by the passing projections once more.

“Wow,” Ariadne says before she can stop herself. Eames is already lighting up a cigarette. “Who was that?”

“Em,” Eames says darkly.

“Em. Like Emily?” Ariadne tries.

“Like ‘M’. Like Massive Bleeding Hemorrhage. Or Mutual Homicide.” Eames finally spits out the toothpick. “Or Mother.”


End file.
